Cry Human
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Stiles, traumatized after being kidnapped a few years previous, is... changed. With a new house, a new job, and.. no new friends. Stiles tries to move on. However, familiar strangers, one night stands and the supernatural bring the past up again, this time with an uglier head. M for violence, some language, sex, possible triggers (kidnap, depression, anxiety) Hurt/comfort/Mystery
1. The Past is Now

**There are 13 kinds of Kitsune, celestial, Kawa, ocean and thunder.. but there is _one_. The dark Kitsune, the carnivore; Nogitsune. ****The Nogitsune draws it's power from pain and tragedy, strife and chaos. It exists, to cause suffering, and won't stop until it gets a taste of the bitter fruits of it's labor. Like an obsessive hunter, stalking its prey. **

* * *

><p>Who better to draw from then little, skinny, defenseless, Stiles. He wasn't exactly the highest, or most important chain in the link, but what he lacked in brute strength he made up for in all the little things he did. He had somehow managed to be the only person who was interlinked with everyone. He wasn't what anyone would call important, but he was precious.<p>

When the Nogitsune took over his mind, body and anything else he ever had, it was the perfect plan. For stiles, it was worse then just the mind games. It was like there was constantly something crawling beneath his skin, snaking its way up his arm and bulging out wherever it crept. It was painful, and hopeless.

"Have you figured out my riddle yet?"

Stiles kept himself balled up in the corner of a dark, and damp room. The cold floor make it hard to ignore how alone he was. The only way he could be sure that there was in fact, someone else in the room, was the echoing voice, whispering spine-chilling words into his ear.

"Everyone has it, but _no one_ can lose it. What is it?"

He inhaled a shaky breath. He wanted to wipe his nose. The room was cold, and his goose bumps were rough against his hands as he rubbed his arms, desperately trying to create heat. "You don't understand do you?" the voice cooed deeply, smothering his sanity bit by bit, "It's a riddle... Do you know any riddles Stiles?"

Stiles was fighting every urge to cry, to the point that he started to hold his breath, sharply exhaling through his nose when he couldn't hold it any longer. It made a sound that let the Nogitsune know how venerable he was. How truly broken down he was, not referring to his ankle, but to his mind. He just wanted to lie down and sleep through all of it, but his fear wouldn't let him. It kept his eyes open in the darkness, well aware he couldn't see two feet in front of himself. "I Don't Know!" he screamed to the shadows.

A decrepit voice chuckled against his cheek, making him flinch away. He clenched his jaw when he got his wits about him, knowing it was just more of their scheming. He cradled his head in his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest defensively. He cringed when his ankle make a crackling sound, sending jolt after jolt of pins-and-needle pain up his leg. Stile let out a pained cry, desperately demanding what to do, "What.. are you doing to me?"

"Making lunch."

It sounded like multiple voices now, circling his head even though there was a wall directly behind him. It started to dull a bit, that dark voice suddenly becoming soothing and familiar. "Stiles..." it spoke.

"No." he ordered, shaking his head as he rang shaky fingers through his hair, "No. You won't use him." his breathing got heavier as crying got harder to hold back, "Please. Just stop.."

His father's voice sounded so close to him, like he could reach out and grab onto him if he extended his arm. "Stiles... It's me."

"No. It's just a dream. This is all in my head.."

Something kicked his leg, knocking his broken ankle off balance, and sending more waves of pain up his body. He screamed desperately, half of him praying desperately for help, the other knowing perfectly well that none would come.


	2. Scruffy

It was five years, six physiatrists, and an addiction to chocolate peanut butter ice cream later. Stiles was different. He'd lost his closest friends after becoming a self inflicted mute for the better part of a year. The only person who really talked to him at all was Scott, an old high school friend, and those conversations always ended badly anyway. Stiles' dad decided a move would be best. He'd borrowed countless 'for dummies' and self help books from the library after that, and for a man who wasn't an avid reader, he raced through the pages quickly. The sheriff was determined to help his little boy.

Of course, he wasn't the sheriff anymore. He was just Mr. Stillinski. Even Stiles started referring to him like that. They'd moved to a bigger town, with more lit streetlights at night and neighborhoods where the houses were closer together and the mailboxes and trashcans shared the same space. Three, nearly four years in and Stiles still didn't have any new friends. He was out of school, and decided against college. He just didn't have the energy to provide any effort. His father however, gave him the choice between school and a job. He now worked at a little dinky ice cream shop downtown that would sing a jingle whenever you put a buck in the tip jar.

Mr. Stillinski became a police officer, carrying over from his previous occupation. He didn't like how constricted he felt in a cubical though. It wasn't much of a life, but it was a living, breathing partnership. Stiles would get home about an hour before his father, collect a spoon and the carton of chocolate peanut butter then flick on the TV. He never watched much of whatever played, but it was part of the routine.

When his dad got home, he'd fix dinner-which was never as good as the ice cream-and they'd sit down to a meal. Those were generally quiet. They never talked about the incident all those years ago, and Stiles still barely talked. Whenever the kidnapping became a topic, Stiles would visibly shudder. He'd start to sweat and make strange noises followed by his infamous panic attacks. Those had gotten much worse.

It wasn't much of a life. However, they were both breathing together. That counted for something... right?

* * *

><p>It was another day in the dinky little downtown ice cream parlor. Stiles was entertaining himself by watching a couple flirt over a chunk of bubblegum flavored sorbet. The girl must have been half the man's age, and kept making these little high pitched giggles that made Stiles want to jam cotton balls down his ears. The bell jingled over the door and another couple stepped inside. Two couples in the shop almost beat the record. Which was three. Stiles made a day of these things.<p>

"So many choices..." the girl grinned, folding her arms and squinting her eyes towards the flavors list.

The man at her side was tall, and a bit rough looking. He was handsome, Stiles would give him that, but he seemed very unapproachable. His stubble was perfectly framing his jaw, and the way he stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket was appealing. Tall dark and furry gave a little grunt to the girl at his side before mumbling out his own order, "Chocolate peanut butter."

Go figure.

The girl was indecisive and a little annoying, pausing her menu browsing every few seconds to giggle and grin at the man or ask him a question. Stiles thought the dude's perfectly good ice cream would die a horrid, melting death before she even considered something. He technically wasn't supposed to, but he handed the man his ice cream over the counter with a look of pity. The man smiled and nodded, his scruff making the smile _known. _Stiles decided to call this guy scruffy.

"Can I try a couple flavors?" The woman asked expectantly, taking a moment to flip her hair. Literally flip the stupid thing.

Stiles nodded slowly, but kept his mouth shut and lips tight. That seemed to draw Scruffy's attention as he looked up from his half eaten helping of heaven. The girl did that annoying little head shake and shoulder lift that looks like a combination of sassy, cocky, subjective, and frankly; rude, "Well?"

Stiles nodded a little quicker and wider, but really didn't want to use his words if he didn't have to. His voice already felt dry and he just knew if he tried to speak it would come out all cracked and high pitched. He didn't do well with people anymore. He used to be able to talk a mile a minute.

She girl looked about ready to glare before Scruffy rolled his eyes, "Just pick already. I'd rather not have to eat ice cream soup."

Stiles smirked a little. Scruffy was pretty witty. With a frustrated huff, the girl poked her finger against the glass that separated customers from the ice cream and called out the names of a couple flavors as Stiles got some tiny spoons for her to taste them. After trying Bubblegum, Lemon tart, Raspberry _and_ Strawberry Burst, she decided on plain Vanilla. Stiles was a little annoyed.

The couple he'd been watching before had already left by the time Scruffy got to the counter to pay. The bitch took away his only source of entertainment. "Sorry about that." Scruffy apologized as he pulled a wallet from the back of his jeans, "Gwen's pretty indecisive."

Stiles thought for an awkward moment, fishing around for a good reply. He finally smiled plastically, raising a hand in a ''no worries'' kind of way. Scruffy grinned before placing a bill down on the counter, obviously more then he needed to pay. Stiles started to make change, but Scruffy mimicked his hand signs and told him to, "Keep it." before turning back to the girl who waited by the door with her Vanilla ice cream and an annoyed expression.

What a bitch.

Scruffy nodded his head with respect before following her out the door. The shop was empty now, and Stiles was bored again. He scooped himself a Chocolate Peanut butter before settling down onto a stool that sat behind the counter. He took a satisfied bite of his ice cream before shutting his eyes and humming some tune that got stuck in his head when someone came in earlier whistling it. Just another day.

* * *

><p>Scruffy came back in a couple days later with a different girl. This one was blonde, and seemed to have an affinity for leopard print. To be honest, she sort of resembled a hooker. Stiles didn't expect to get recognized, he was a wallflower after all, but Scruffy seemed more stand-offish this time around. It wasn't as if there was anyone around him to have an intelligent conversation with, Stiles was quiet and the girl really didn't look like she could hold an interesting topic for long, but he was very reserved that day.<p>

No offence to her, but... she asked which ice cream smelled the best. Then asked Scruffy if she would smell like the ice cream she chose after she ate it. He wasn't being stereotypical, but this was one of those girls that just makes other blondes look bad.

"Chocolate Peanut butter." Scruffy muttered, "Double scoop."

Stiles nodded and scooped it into a dish before handing it over the counter. He didn't have a doubt that 'smells' would take as much time as the girl he was with before. He liked nicknaming people, it helped keep strangers in a line when he thought things over in his head, "You should get the strawberry one."

The blonde turned a little to smile at him, "I do like the smell of strawberries... and it will match my lip gloss color!"

Stiles frowned. What? The strawberry flavored ice cream would match the color of her lip gloss. Who knew! Maybe she really would smell like strawberries later. She looked liable to drop a rainbow out of her leopard print anytime now. Just explode into a fireworks show of sparkles and cotton candy.

Scruffy came back again with another girl later in the week.

Then two more times with a few more different girls.

Again and Again he came back, each time with a different girl and something just a little different about the way he carried himself. Stiles liked observing this giggalo, and fell into a habit of preparing a Chocolate Peanut butter double scoop whenever he was Scruffy walk through the door. It took almost two week for one of the girls to actually say his name, "But Derek! I want a lot of ice cream! I can't just pick one flavor!"

Derek seemed like a very fitting name, but Stiles still applauded himself for choosing a name like Scruffy, and decided he liked that better.


	3. Panic Attack

Stiles always liked to assume he looked normal. He still had a very nervous system. He'd jolt violently during one of those typical movie 'cat in the trash can' moments. Little things scared him in a big way, and it was hard to ignore much of anything. That must have been part of the reason why he liked observing so much.

It was three in the morning, work was at six. Stiles knew he needed rest, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't force himself to go back to sleep. He'd woken up suddenly with a flashback of his kidnapping. In his mind, it was far worse then real life. He'd skewed a few details. His brain had replaced the kidnapper's face with a bandaged mask. There were dark, rotting fangs from beneath the cloth, and the way he carried himself was terrifying on its own.

Stiles rubbed his ankle soothingly. It had healed well enough, but he still remembered being a gimp for the longest time. His memories of that night were vague, and the doctors diagnosed him with a concussion that took away many memories. That was another thing that contributed to the loss of his friends from before. He remembered their pained looks when he couldn't remember half of them. It wasn't his fault, and he really did want to remember.

Moving had been a good idea.

Stiles clung to the blanket tighter as he forced his eyes shut. He needed to get some rest. The nightmares came and go but the next night would only be worse if he didn't at least power nap. Chocolate Peanut butter sounded good right about then. The ice cream was a weird relaxer for Stiles. There were gallons of it in the house just for him thanks to his dad. They didn't talk much, but when they did, it usually had to do with Stiles being in need of some more.

The little alarm clock stationed by his bed clicked over to four. Great. He tried to keep his mind on pleasant things, hoping to sleep a little more. The kidnapper just kept pounding against his brain, spouting decrepit sounding words that made him shiver.

_"What are you doing to me?"_

_"Making lunch." _

Eyes snapped awake to the sound of an annoying buzz of the alarm clock. He had work. With a bit of sluggish fatigue, Stiles slipped into his pale blue work shirt. The color sort of reminded him of the cotton candy flavor they only served on special occasions. It was comfortable too.

Work started slow. The seasons had melted into that little bridge between the end of fall and the beginning of winter. Slush was on the ground, the air was cold enough to nip your nose but not to freeze a pool. Leaves were still disintegrating underfoot, and Stiles started his shift by raking away some of the strays that blew into their font sidewalk. The sound of a cheap plastic rake scraping against the sidewalk was irritating, if not insufferable. Technically his colleague, Jane, should have been doing this. She was always late. Stiles only gave her the leeway he did because she was nice and worked hard. Jane was one of those girls who lived in a house filled with problems.

She was about a year behind Stiles, but worked two jobs and babysat on Sundays. Her father was a drunk and her mother spent her days wallowing in self pity after shoving their three other toddlers off to school. Jane liked to talk. A lot. That was the main reason he knew all of this. They weren't exactly 'friends', but they talked. Well, Jane talked. Stiles just listened intently as she went on and on about a great sale or an annoying customer.

Stiles had just packed away the rake when he heard the little bell above the door give out a familiar little jingle, causing him to poke his head out from the back room. Jane was discarding her layers hurriedly. She was also a little out of breath, "Sorry I'm late!" she sang, "There was an accident somewhere on Route 52 and I had to take a back road. Then my mother called asking where the kids were. I dropped them off this morning because I couldn't wake her up."

She just kept rambling like that, as she did most days. Stiles didn't mind though. In a way, she kind of reminded him of how he was... before the kidnapping.

"Anyway, I'm late, but I promise I'll make it up to you! You can add some extra time to your break if you want. I won't say a thing." She smiled, finally slipping the neck of her colored apron over her head, "Anyone come in yet?"

Stiles shook his head. She was only half an hour late. They were never that busy this time of year. Jane smiled brightly, the dimples in her cheeks peeking their way out cutely. Jane had hair that hung down just past her shoulders. The tips were curly, but not because she wanted them to be. She had that little bit of natural waviness that really shaped her slender face. She was _very _thin in fact. Like, anorexia thin. The freckles kept her skin color looking fairly normal, but when you really looked behind them, you could tell she was pale. It most likely had to do with her lifestyle, but Stiles never really asked.

Stiles never really asked much of anything these days.

Jane went about checking if everything was in order, not really bothering to ask Stiles if he'd already done it, which he had. There was a song playing over the radio that made her face light up, "I love this song!" she grinned, swaying around a little bit with the tempo before she started to sing along, "Just a small town girl~"

Oh. This song. Great.

"Livin' in a LONELY WORLD!~"

Jane really got into it, grabbing an ice cream scooper off the counter and raising it to her mouth as she continued to sing. Her knees tucked as she dropped to the floor, swinging her arms out in a dramatic pose, "Don't Stop! Believing!~"

Stiles couldn't help it. She just looked so ridiculous like that. He giggled, then chuckled, until her song was about halfway through and he was laughing and smiling brightly. "I had no idea you could smile like that Stiles!" Jane beamed, rising from her kneeling position on the ground.

"Neither did I." came a deep, rough voice from the other side of the counter.

Stiles jumped visibly, both shaken and appalled with himself for not noticing the man walk in. He should have heard the door bell jingle. How had he not noticed? He noticed _everything_. He made it his job to do that. That way no one could ever sneak up on him again. Jane greeted scruffy with a polite, customer to client type of smile, "Afraid you caught me with my pants down." she chuckled.

Stiles was concerned. He had lost his sharp senses for a moment laughing with Jane. He wouldn't make that mistake again. What if that had been the kidnapper? Back again for round two? What if he'd been taken? All because he had been to busy laughing to pay attention. Stiles felt sick. He lost his footing for a moment and fell back onto the stool that sat behind the counter.

"Stiles? Are you alright?" Jane asked, concerned, "You look pale.."

"Stiles?" Scruffy echoed, making the boy look up with dizzy eyes.

"My name..." he mumbled.

His eyes suddenly became very heavy and his back hurt. He felt sore and wanted to vomit. Uncontrollable shaking started and Stiles knew what was happening. It was very familiar. He had only ever had panic attacks at home, save for a couple ones in public. He'd been with his dad those times though. The thought of no one being able to calm him down only made it worse.

"Stiles!" Scruffy cried, leaping, literally _leaping_ over the counter and rushing up past Jane.

He blacked out after that point. Someone grabbed hold of him though, just before he went under. Whoever it was, held him just like his dad did.


	4. Derek, AKA Scruffy

The room Stiles was in was pitch black. The air felt cold and wet, and smelled of mold mixed with old wood. The atmosphere alone made his stomach churn. He tried to see what was around him, but he could barely see his own hands in front of his face. He started to breathe a little heavier, waving his arms around in front of himself, hoping for a door, or a wall even. Anything to help him gain some sort of bearings would be amazing.

Just as Stiles felt his hands finally come into contact with cold wall, a mocking laugh resonated from behind him. He spun around so suddenly he almost lost his footing, trying to face whoever was there, "H-hello!?"

That same, brooding laugh echoed into his left ear, so he turned again. His arm was caught before he could even try to take a swing in front of him. His eyes had become a little more adjusted. He could she some shadowed silhouettes around the room, as well as the dark figure in front of him. The grip on his wrist tightened and burned, making him wince. "Who are you!?" Stiles practically screamed.

The stranger just laughed yet again, pulling Stiles closer by his arm. There was a dreadful stink of breath coming through his nostril now. What did this creep eat? Dead rats and rotten fish? It was enough to make his gut twist as his stomach threatened to force out its contents. Stiles was terrified when he realized the stranger was breathing over his face, "Stiles..."

Cringing, Stiles tried to pull free once more, "Let go of me! Who the hell are you!?"

"Stiles."

"Let go of me!"

"Stiles!"

Stiles snapped back to reality with a sudden jerk. He was in the ice cream shop. Sprawled out on the floor and his head in someone's lap, Stiles could see Jane's worried expression as she sat beside him, "Stiles! Oh thank God. Are you alright? You had a seizure! I called 911 but-"

"I already told you that it wasn't a seizure! You shouldn't have called!" The lap against his head shifted weirdly as the man who held him spoke.

Stiles managed to look up. Scruffy was glaring at Jane as they argued what had managed to knock him out. Of course, they wouldn't have known it was a panic attack. He didn't blame them for that either. Stiles had never told Jane that he had them, but could anyone really blame him for that? Alright, they probably could.

"Look sir," Jane replied sternly, "I already told you that I don't know you. This is a staff matter and I _still _think you should leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." he growled in reply, "Obviously you don't know what you're doing."

Stiles frowned. That line sounded oddly familiar with that voice, it sounded... right even. He squinted his eyes a little as he studied the face of this man. The gigolo who always brought countless women in and ordered the same ice cream that Stiles loved. The man was a mystery. Hadn't one of the girls said his name before? What was it again? Darren?

Jane stood from where she had been kneeling beside Stiles, reaching down to help him up as she kept keen and vicious eyes on the man, "I have this under control thank you very much."

"You thought it was a seizure!" Scruffy growled.

"It was!" she retorted, Stiles being almost firmly planted on his feet once again.

"I'm telling you it wasn't!"

"Then what exactly was it genius?"

Scruffy opened his mouth to speak, but paused suddenly when he noticed Stiles' eyes on him. It made Stiles even more curious as he adverted his gaze. "Whatever."

Stiles thought hard, leaving a concentrated expression on his face. He wanted to ask who this man was. He'd called Stiles by name before he'd blacked out... and the way he'd held Stiles. It was like his dad used to hold him during his attacks in Beacon Hills. He remembered those. His body would thrash around violently and his muscles would tense up with uncontrollable spasms. It required a tight grip like Scruffy had.

The attacks had changed since the move. His depression mixed with the anxiety that triggered them, and his body just wasn't strong enough to lash out like it used to. Which was something depressing in itself. He was literally too sad to have normal panic attacks. Someone upstairs must hate him.

Scruffy let out a heavy breath as the atmosphere in the room relaxed a little more. He shoved clenched fists into the pockets of his coat, looking ready to leave. Stiles still needed to ask who he was! His lips parted a little, getting ready to form words. His throat went dry again. It was hard to speak on a good day. He was under pressure now and it just made his throat hurt more. Stiles felt his eyes water a little when the man started to turn, ready to leave with Jane's obvious approval.

"W-"

It wasn't a full word... but it sent out the message Stiles wanted to get across. Scruffy shifted back a little, looking directly at him. "Who-" Stiles tried again, his brow furrowing with concentration and his eyes watering a little as he tries to tough out the sharp scratch in his throat.

"Stiles?" Jane questioned, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Who.. are-"

"Easy." Scruffy replied, raising a hand as he started coming back to Stiles, "You obviously don't talk much. You'll hurt your throat."

Jane scoffed, "Seriously, what the hell are you?"

Glaring, the man drew back a little, his dark eyes narrowing with irritation, "Derek. My name's Derek."

The name poked at Stiles' brain. It sounded familiar, but at the same time, it really didn't. It might have just been a name he'd heard around or read online at one point or another. Could even have been one of those names they print on the side of a cola can. Things like that happened. It didn't mean he knew the guy.

More questioned buzzed through Stiles' head as Derek introduced himself to Jane awkwardly. There was a lot of bite in their words. They really didn't seem to like each other. Stiles rubbed his neck in attempt to soothe some of the pain that made his throat sting. Derek seemed to notice, offering to find him some water or anything to drink. The thought was nice. Stiles nodded lightly after giving it a little consideration. It was okay socially for that kind of thing right?

Jane's hand had dropped form his shoulders as she smiled to him, "I'll call 911 again and tell them it's all okay, but then I'd better get back to the counter. It's not a busy day, but we're still open. If you need me, don't hesitate to come get me alright?"

Stiles smiled and nodded once more. Jane's assuring grin morphed into a bit of a glare as she turned her head to Derek, "Touch him and I'll cut you."

"Understood." he replied.

Jane gave Stiles one last look of worry before disappearing on the other side of the door. The back room wasn't huge, but it had enough space for a couple people to move around. The walls were lined with shelves full of toppings, cones, unopened bags of spoons and bowls, and some cardboard boxes Stiles had never really investigated. There was a solitary table with a few chairs littered around it, which Stiles decided to stare at once he noticed a pair of wolfish eyes observing him.

The voice changed a bit. Scruffy's usual hard and rough turned into a soft reassuring, damn near seductive purr, "You still want that drink?"


	5. Out for a Drink

When he'd been offered a drink, Stiles had assumed.. soda or something, which was becoming more and more of a ridiculous idea the more he thought on it. Who goes out for a _soda_? That was how he found himself sitting in a bar in the middle of the day with a man who was still technically a stranger. He knew the guy's name sure, but he was strange. Derek had continually brought girl after girl into the ice cream parlor, but never took any of them back a second time. That was the extent of his knowledge. For all Stiles knew, this dude could be a rapist of some sort.

That was probably a ridiculous thought too though. What kind of rapist would bring his women out in public? Or to an ice cream shop even. He watched carefully as Derek ordered himself a drink, turning to Stiles afterword and asking if he wanted anything. It would have been rude to refuse, since he had bothered to take Stiles all the way out _for a drink_; obviously alcohol. So, he settled for a rum and coke. He could take that much. Stiles wasn't exactly an avid drinker.

"Rum and coke." Derek repeated, raising a few fingers to the bartender.

The bar wasn't the Ritz, but it wasn't a half bad place either. Stiles assumed the empty dance floor was more crowded in the night, when the florescent lights would be a little brighter and the smell of old men and cigarettes would be a little less evident; overtaken by hormonal teenagers grinding on one another. Derek had started talking, but Stiles was having trouble keeping his attention on him and not the scary looking man that sat a couple bar stools away; staring at Stiles and Derek with a sinister leer. It made him very uncomfortable... and nervous.

But everything made Stiles nervous.

"Stiles?" Derek repeated, finally deciding by this third time to lift a hand to Stiles' arm, making the boy flinch, "You zoned out."

"Y-yeah.." was all Stiles managed to reply before choking up and sealing his lips tight.

He would have loved to apologize to Derek, but he'd spoken more already today than he had in a while. Derek seemed to be waiting for more of a response, but the bartender saved Stiles, coming to the rescue with their drinks and a bowl of peanuts. "So, do you get these attacks often?" Derek questioned before raising his drink to his lips.

Stiles almost choked on his peanut. He managed to cough it out and took a big mouthful of his (not coke) to try and wash away the scratchy sensation that comes after a coughing fit. Of course, the rum didn't exactly help, just burned his throat in an unpleasant way. Stiles squinted his eyes shut to keep them from watering before nodding in response to Derek's question.

"You alright?"

Another nod. He'd just swallowed a big gulp of alcohol and carbonation, no big deal.

The scowl Derek offered his drink did not go unnoticed, "You don't talk much, do you?"

Stiles let his eyes open a little more now that the stinging feeling was leaving his eyes. He shook his head lightly before spinning a couple degrees on his bar stool. Those were always fun. Stiles liked the feeling of being able to spin around in circles like that, it was kind of relaxing. Of course, he could act like some weirdo in a public bar. "You're wandering off again." Derek frowned, "Do that often too?"

Stiles smiled shyly. It was a bad habit.

Derek's grin was bright, and pleasant to look at. It was one of those grins that had a little tooth to it; white, shiny teeth that would put Ken and Barbie to shame. That lovely smile faded the moment Derek noticed Stiles staring. They talked for a few minutes after that, Derek doing most of the talking and Stiles doing most of the listening and nodding. It was still a nice conversation though. Stiles hadn't really had one like it in a while. Most people, once they found out Stiles didn't talk, would either ignore him or just ramble to themselves basically. Derek however, was making sure to get Stiles answers and input.

He seemed genuinely interested in whatever Stiles had to say. Stiles found out that Derek had only recently moved into the area, lived alone in "A piece of crap with four walls", and that the bar they were in was his favorite place to drink. A lot. Derek had confessed to having a weakness for the bottle, but why he drank so much Stiles didn't get to find out. He didn't ask though, things like that were generally personal.

Polishing off the last of his rum and coke gave Stiles a little more courage, and numbed his dry throat, "Thank you." he mumbled, looking down into his, now empty, cup.

Derek smiled again, "For what?"

"Helping, buying me a drink."

"It's fine." Derek replied, shooting down what had to be his third or fourth shot of straight vodka. An audiable cringe came out of his mouth and showed all over his face. Why did he drink it if he didn't like it? Or maybe it burned like the rum did. "I'm just glad you're okay. You're even talking."

Stiles chuckled, "It's the rum."

"You're not that drunk." Derek grinned in reply, "It's all you."

"The rum helps."

Wrangling the bartender back for another shot, Derek smiled a wolfish grin. It might have been the pleasant buzz from his drink, but Stiles felt a little more comfortable, less stressed. Scruffy took in his next shot before turning back to Stiles and speaking with a slight slur, "I'm... jus' glad you're okay."

"You're the drunk one."

"Not drunk. I have a good tolerance. Jus' relieved."

Stiles frowned into the bottom of this glass, "You talk like we're old friends or something."

He'd said it jokingly, but the way Derek's face skewed was stomach wrenching. Did he know Derek before hand? He would have remembered someone like him surely. They were strangers right? Stiles hadn't met him before the ice cream shop. So... why did Derek look so hurt by his words?

"Yeah.." Derek muttered, waving for yet another shot of vodka.

"You're not going to be able to drive home." Stiles warned, trying to let the bartender know they were done.

Derek groaned defensively, "I's fine. I can drink sum more."

"Are you an alcoholic or something? You've had plenty."

"I wanna drink some more!" Derek barked, slamming a fist down on the counter.

At this point, the bartender stepped in, "I think your friend is right buddy, you've had enough. You're starting to bother people."

"I'm the one that's bothered!" he retorted, glaring up at the man with irritation and dangerous warning, "Whatever. Le's go Stiles."

Derek stood angrily and headed for the door, leaving Stiles to nod apologetically to the bartender and rush after him. They were out in the middle of town, and now he was nervous. There was no way he was going to get into a car with a drunk driver, but he had no intention of walking home alone... in the middle of town... where no one pays attention to anyone... he could get kidnapped again and no one would even notice. He could be forced into an alley way and- His thoughts were interrupted when Derek slammed into the car.

"Are- are you okay?" He managed, getting a little choked again.

"I'm fine Dammit!" Derek barked, glaring at the car as he tried to shove the key into the lock, failing several times before slamming an angry fist against the door.

Stiles jumped, frightened. Derek was a scary drunk apparently. Why had he been drinking so much anyway? He should.. help the man right? "You want me to call a cab for you? You shouldn't be driving home."

Rough, calloused and slightly shaky hands raked over Derek's stubble as he shook his head, "I'm fine. It's just-" a heavy sigh escaped his lips before he turned his head to Stiles, offering him a sad smile, "It's just harder than I thought it would be." he shoved the keys back into his pocket before spinning on his heel, "I'll walk home. Don't worry."

"I'll call a cab... really." Stiles repeated, taking a hesitant step forward, "I.. I gotta call one for myself too. We-we could share maybe? I-umm." he stuttered, secretly hoping Derek would accept. The guy was a strange man, but he was familiar and Stiles didn't want to be alone with strangers. Besides, Jane knew Derek was the last one with him if something _did _happen. He had a backup plan.

Derek let out a defeated puff of air before nodding, "Got it. Don't be scared, I'll get you home."

Stiles stood shocked as Derek brought out his phone to dial. He could read Stiles like an open book; always knowing what he was really thinking. Who..?

Who the hell was this guy?


	6. Hangovers and Bloody Wounds

Stiles woke up with a headache, and his alarm clock had achieved grade A douchuebaggery because of it. While it wasn't exactly a full 'hangover headache', it was bad enough to make him chuck that stupid alarm clock against the wall with malice. He had work, but Stiles didn't want to go. Jane would bombard him with questions that he didn't want to answer, and not just because his throat hurt whenever he tried to talk to her. It would be awkward. Stiles really didn't like talking about his personal life that much.. it surprised him that he'd been so vocal with Derek; for which he blamed the alcohol.

With an irritated huff, Stiles forced himself to roll off the bed.

He had bed head, and his shirt was buttoned wrong; the buttons pushed in one hole too far up. When he finally slugged through the doors of the ice cream parlor, Jane was in hysterics. Of course she was in on time that day of all days, the day she had a real _reason_ to come in.

"Stiles!" She shrieked, practically jumping over the counter to grab him up in a hug. "Are you okay? I was worried."

Her voice was loud, and it made his headache hurt worse. He raised a hand to try and soothe the pain but nodded to answer her question. As predicted, Jane spouted question after question, begging to hear all about the night and whether or not the 'creep' had taken his 'innocence'. He didn't really want to spoil her fantasy, but Stiles wasn't a virgin. Well, he couldn't prove that, but he'd had a boyfriend when he lived in Beacon Hills. That was one of the things everyone seemed to ask him about when they fired off interrogative questions that seemed to have only one answer. He always replied with no.

_"Do you remember having a boyfriend? Girlfriend?" _

_"Do you remember me?" _

_"What about her?"_

Always answered with a shake of the head. The pained faces and plastic smiles they gave him in reply made his stomach twist with guilt every time. Beacon Hills was really just a place full of forgotten memories.

"Stiles? Are you listening?" Jane huffed, a little irritated. "I was asking about whether or not you want to just go home today."

Stiles offered her a blank stare.

"I-I mean, you always cover for me. I know you had a bad day yesterday and everything, so this would be kinda like my repayment." she blubbered, trying to find her words as a brush of pink found its way to her cheeks. "Or... something. You know."

Stiles smiled with fondness. Jane was loud, tardy, and talked a mile a minute, but she was caring. Overall, a good person and probably someone he could depend on for a shoulder to cry on. He held an arm out for a hug, not surprised when she dove into it with a wide grin. "I'm glad you're okay." she muttered into his neck.

There was a jingle at the front door as a customer entered and the two tore apart as Jane pulled her winning smile.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?"

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><p>Stiles wasn't necessarily disappointed that Derek hadn't shown up all day. It wasn't as if the man had made a commitment to do so, Stiles had just grown accustomed to him popping in. He wasn't expecting him to come, but it would have been nice.<p>

Jane wanted to walk him home, and he would have been glad for the company on any other day, but his spirits were down. It would either end in awkward silence, or Stiles looking gloomy and bored while she talked her lips off. Either way, he couldn't see himself summoning any energy to talk, and it wouldn't be fair to her. With a polite, plastic smile, he thanked her and shook his head.

Jane shrugged into her coat and hung the pink and blue apron over a hook by the back door, "You'll lock up then?" she questioned, obviously looking for something to say before finally leaving. "I can always stay until you go home." she offered.

Shaking his head once again, Stiles shooed her. She had to get home anyway, Stiles remembered her coming in one morning with deep bags under her eyes after her mother threw a fit. Jane was in charge of babysitting the little ones at home, but working to support them _and_ their lazy mother had kept her over. Stiles smiled fondly before looking back to the door Jane had exited just moments before. She was a good, hardworking girl. Probably worked _too_ hard for her own good.

Stiles turned, ready to hang up his apron when the familiar bell over the door jingled.

"So.." a long, dry breath huffed out, "You're still... here..."

Spinning around, Stiles recognized scruffy-_Derek_ panting and clutching the side of his torso. Stiles bumped into the counter painfully trying to get around it. "What happened?!" He nearly screamed, absent of thought as he say the red staining Derek's white-knuckled hand.

"Long... Story..." he huffed, limping with Stiles' help into a chair.

The thick blood dripped from between Derek's fingers as he tried to keep pressure on whatever wound remained hidden beneath his palm. "Let me look at it!" Stiles ordered, swatting at the hand for the umpteenth time. "Derek!"

At the sound of his name, the man seemed to tense. He stared at stiles with a look of contemplation before nodding his head slowly, hesitantly releasing his side with a strained grunt. "It... it probably looks worse than it really is." he assured.

Stiles was trying not to freak out. What happened? Was Derek in trouble? Had he started it? Was it an accident? Self inflicted? Was it infected? Did he need to go to a hospital? What if it was fatal or hit an organ? What if-

"Stiles." Derek growled, breaking him from thought. "Calm down. You're shaking." he huffed, putting his bloody hand back over the wound so Stiles wouldn't have to hold it. "I'm fine. Don't want you having another attack."

Stiles retreated to see if he could find something to work with. There was supposed to be first aid kits installed in work settings right? As he was searching the back room, Stiles found himself thinking. Derek had managed to predict his attacks twice now, and stopped them before they were even happening. The only other person that had ever done that for him was his father... and it was a rare occasion. Stiles' panic attacks were random and set off by the littlest of things. They were nearly impossible to anticipate. However, Derek had done it twice.

Finally, Stiles stumbled over a first aid kit tucked behind the bathroom sink. He pulled it out form behind the sink's pipe and eagerly rushed back to the injured man in the front. Derek wasn't groaning anymore, but he was glistening with sweat and trying to keep pressure on the gouge in his hip. He'd taken his jacket off, and the hem of his t-shirt had been pulled up a few inches to make way for Stiles' help. The initial sight of an open, bloody wound made Stiles incredibly nervous, but he tried to work quickly, shaking hands fussing with the bandages. "Calm down." Derek repeated, "Breathe with me."

Stiles followed in time with the deep breaths the man took, soon residing to a point where he could wrap Derek's wound with stable hands. There was something so natural about this, as if he'd done it a thousand times before. It felt natural; clipping the bandage together while using Derek's deep breaths to stay tamed and away from panic attacks. It was surreal. "T-there..." Stiles huffed with relief.

He was done. "You..." he choked a little on the sentence, "You'll need a doctor."

"You were always good enough." Derek muttered in reply, standing to pull his jacket on, "I don't need any doctor."

"M-My sewing was terrible!" Stiles offered, tying to convince him.

"I'll be fine."

"What happened? Who are you? What did you mean, "I was always good enough!?" Stiles thought he was going to hyperventilate, but he had a lot to say.

Derek raised a hand, "Take a breath. I'll explain."

"Are you..." Stiles took a moment to cough out the words, but his curiosity was overruling his shy speech. He needed to know, "Are you... Dangerous?"

With a cheeky grin, Derek replied casually, "Deadly."


	7. Forget Me Not

**Alright, time for the diaper babies to skip a chapter, there will be smut. A LOT of it. Like, seriously nearly this entire chapter is just smut. You thought you were going to get an explanation in this chapter? Well, we're getting closer, but something big mayyyy be happening below. Who knows. :P Also thank you all so much for the support on this story. It means so much to me. Remember, reviews are love! (TuT)**

**Also, there was a tiny little thing that got cut out of the chapter when I uploaded it the first time, it's been fixed and re-inserted. Sorry about that.**

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><p>How it happened, was a mystery. To be honest though, it didn't really matter. All that mattered at the moment was the <em>feeling<em>. The rush of someone else's air flowing through your lungs as you try to breathe within a sloppy, desperate kiss. The kind of kissing that would leave your cheeks scratched and red from stubble, lips puffy and red from the roughness of it all. It was indeed, rough. Rough and fast. The feeling that either one's patience could snap like elastic that's been stretched to it's limit.

Stiles felt his knees hit the back of his bed as Derek guided him closer and closer to that moment when he'd break down and become needy. Muscular arms grabbed the backs of his thighs, lifting Stiles off the ground and forcing him to try and lock ankles behind Derek's torso. Those pesky limbs however, wouldn't work with him. He slipped and fell back onto the bed with a noisy creak of the mattress. Stiles' thighs were hot and burned where Derek had tried to hold him up, no doubt where there were going to be suspicious hand marks later. They could accompany the trail of countless hickeys that littered his neck.

Stubble started to scratch his cheeks once again, Derek towering over him with royalties and demanding arms that grabbed at him, plunging a desperate tongue into his mouth as he took position between the boy's legs. Stiles took the opportunity to catch his breath as Derek sat back on his heels, pulling off his shirt to reveal the bandaged, sweaty, muscular torso beneath. They weren't going to open anything again were they?

Derek came back down slowly, the two of them panting as the hormones drowning the pair seemed to sponge out, just a little. They could breathe now at least. "Are..." Stiles huffed, "Are your wounds... going to be okay?"

"I'm fine." Derek replied, snaking a hand between Stiles' back and the mattress as his head dipped down to the boy's chest.

He pulled Stiles' body up into his mouth as Derek ghosted hot breath over a nipple, sparking sensations in Stiles that he didn't know he was capable of having. When his mouth finally clamped down over the bud, Stiles couldn't control the small whimper that escaped his mouth. The nerves twisted in his body, forcing his hips to involuntarily roll upwards like a wanton teenager. His legs were weak and lubed with fresh sweat that gathered in the juncture beneath his knees. Hands desperate to find something for stability, head tossing back to open his airways as they gasped for some sort of sound to make. What came out was a strangled plea. Stiles felt teeth lightly graze his nipple, but only enough for him to spasm a little as the feeling electrified a new twist of nerves through his chest. It was impossibly erotic.

"I-if you don't do something else soon..." Stiles panted, barely able to breathe out the words, "I'll cum before we do anything."

Derek let his lips wrap around his teeth as he chomped lightly over the pink bud, the flesh softening the bite. Stiles whined as his hips began to roll again without his permission. Rough hands clamped over them as Derek stilled the movement beneath him and began to kiss a trail down Stiles' torso. He worked on kissing, licking, and sucking hickeys into the boy's hips as fingers fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, slipping both them and the boxers underneath off with one fell swoop. The boxers however, got lost in the pull down, catching over Stiles' knees rather annoyingly. Frustrated, Derek pulled on the offending clothes a little too hard, and dragged Stiles down the bed a couple inches. He had to try not to grin devilishly when Stiles gripped at his shoulders in a moment of vulnerability, just looking for something to keep himself steady on the bed.

When Stiles tried to recoil his arms, face bright red, Derek caught him and brought them up further so they wrapped around his neck. With a look of devious undertone, he dipped for another long, wet, kiss that dragged out a trail of saliva when they parted. "Do you have any lube?" Derek questioned, voice rough and deep.

"N-No..." Stiles gushed, shaking his head fiercely. He didn't really make a habit out of sex. He'd had urges before, but anybody with a penis and twelve years to discover boobs would say the same thing. "I-I don't."

"You're gonna have to work with me then." Derek bargained, dragging a couple fingers up to the boy's mouth, "Suck." he ordered.

Bright red, Stiles took them into his mouth, trying his best to be helpful even though his embarrassment was overwhelming. Derek had eyes trained on Stiles, watching intently as he held Derek by the wrist, practically drooling over his fingers with shut eyes and demanding moans. When he noticed the boy's growing embarrassment, he resorted to biting marks into Stiles' side. Before the night was over, Stiles would be covered.

The first finger was intrusive and sharp. Stiles instinctively tried to scoot up the bed and way from the invasion, but Derek help him still, planting soft, assuring kisses under his jaw to offer some sort of distraction, "It'll get better." came a soft, assuring voice in the boy's ear.

For Derek, this was a replay of things they'd done a handful of times before. It hurt him that Stiles didn't remember him like he remembered Stiles. The special spots that made him twitch, or the way he would always bite on a knuckle when he became eager. The things he would never forget. For Derek, this was treasured, but for Stiles it was brand new. He took it slow and tried to remain calm as years and years of missing Stiles built up and tried to claw out of his system; to break free.

Saliva wasn't a permanent fix, but it loosened Stiles enough for his body to get the idea and create some natural lube. By the time Derek was circling with a third finger, Stiles had lost most of his uncomfortableness. Derek held back his smirk when Stiles chewed on his knuckle. He removed his fingers and started to peck more comforting kisses along his shoulder, getting into position before Stiles had the chance to get nervous and clam up.

Pushing in as slowly as possible, Derek held onto Stiles' thigh with one hand, the other planted firmly on the bed beside Stiles' head, keeping Derek propped up. God he'd missed this. Stiles started to claw into his back, but he kept his pace slow, stopping when he'd finally managed to go all the way in. It was hard to breathe on both ends. Derek let his head fall limp as he closed his eyes, filled with bliss as he withdrew, pushing in a little faster the second time. "You okay?" he asked, looking to make sure he wasn't hurting the boy.

"F-Fine." Stiles managed, chest heaving as he tried to regain some sort of stable breathing. "You can... you can go faster."

"Don't say things like that when you're terrified." Derek returned, leaning forward a little more so that his forehead could connect with Stiles' shoulder. "It's okay, just relax."

"I can't." Stiles whimpered, clinging onto Derek a little tighter. "It's too much. M-maybe you should just pull out!"

Derek moved the hand at Stiles' thigh to his front, gripping his erection the way he knew Stiles liked, continuing to whisper encouragement and relaxing words as Stiles slowly relaxed, even moving his hips again. Derek had to stop talking for a moment so that he could gather himself again, trying to stay calm and not move as Stiles wriggled beneath him. "I'm good now." Stiles whined, "So move."

"If I start now I won't stop." Derek warned, his stare becoming more of a glare than he'd intended it to be.

Stiles just nodded silently, telling Derek to continue.

So he pushed all the way in with one thrust.

Stiles' mouth opened without sound, but he didn't tell Derek stop as the thrusts continued like that, all the way in and slowly back out. The pain numbed quickly, and soon Stiles was trying to find a rhythm to counter Derek, making him go faster and the mattress squeak louder. Stiles started to make the real sounds when one thrust slammed into him in a particular way, causing his gut to twist and jerk in a way of ecstasy. "Derek!" he gasped.

With a smirk, the pattern continued, both of them closer to the edge with every slam of the hips. Stiles was livid when Derek bit into his neck hard enough to break the skin, roughly grabbing Stiles shoulders as he rose out his orgasm. Finally falling down beside the boy, Derek huffed out a barely audible, "I love you."

Coming down from the high was harsh.

Something in his brain clicked. You know the feeling when you go into a room for something, and then immediately forget what you're looking for? That stupid, "I should know this" feeling? It's a common thing people go through, but it's normally for something trivial like a set of keys or a letter that needs mailing.

Stiles felt terrified as he slowly began to sink away from the man who laid next to him. His fear must have shown, "Stiles? You alright?"

Stiles cringed, looking over the man he'd obviously just had sex with, taking in their surroundings, but it was all wrong for some reason. His head hurt. He knew this. He must know this one. It would be stupid of him not to. "Stiles?" came the parroted question, "Are you alright?"

"I-" he whined, voice cracking, "I can't remember your name..."


	8. Brain Wall

The doctors said it was a part of Stiles' PTSD that caused him to have a sort of triggered concussion. That wasn't the worst of it. Stiles had forgotten two hours worth. He didn't even remember treating Derek's wound in the ice cream shop. He'd forgotten everything Derek had told him. Everything that had happened.

Derek sat in the uncomfortable chair of a hospital waiting room, head back against the wall with his eyes shut. If he'd been thinking clearly before, he probably could have prevented this. He hadn't explained everything to Stiles, and when nothing happened in the shop, Derek had been so relieved. Something must have snapped Stiles' unbreakable 'mind wall' as they'd referred to it in Beacon Hills. The lot of them who were friends with Stiles before the incident.

_"His fucking brain has screwed us all over!" Lydia had cursed, kicking one of the walls in his home, "Can't remember a thing." _

_"He'll remember us." Scott assured her, hands clasped as he sat on the edge of Derek's couch, "I don't think he'll remember what took him though." _

_"What did the doctors say?" Derek grunted from where he stood, propped against the front door. _

_Scott scowled, "I still don't understand why you won't just go see him. Maybe it would help!" _

_"His dad won't let me." the wolf growled through his teeth, "Thinks I've got something to do with this." _

_"You do." _

_"But I didn't cause it! I'm worried more than any of you." _

_Lydia rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration, "Doctor said over exposure could re-open a wound. He's built up some sort of memory blockage that's keeping the event hidden away, like some kind of mind wall. I guess forgetting us is a way of forgetting the supernatural." _

_"So this mind wall is why he can't remember his best friend?" Scott glared up from his seat, "I think this is a load of crap." _

_"He's forgotten all of us alright?" Allison snapped, "Let it go." _

Had their night been what caused the wall to snap? Or try to rebuild itself? Derek let his eyes open, blankly staring at the ceiling. Mr. Stillinski would be there soon, Derek had no doubt. The man would see him and probably try to shoot him again. He'd been the one to finally find Stiles that day. Whatever took him had kept him locked up in an abandoned bunker for at least a couple days. Finding Stiles shivering in a ball on the floor was probably the second worst moment in his life. When Stiles revealed he didn't remember... that took first place. Just thinking about the pale, confused expression on his face when he'd said it made Derek's stomach churn.

Derek looked out the window and into the lit parking lot. It was still night. Stillinski would be there soon. He needed to leave. He should definitely leave...

But... he couldn't get himself to move.

Derek hadn't once been able to visit Stiles the first time he'd gone through this, and wasn't told Stiles was leaving until he was already gone. Took a few years, but he'd found them again. The visitations started innocently, just a stop in at the ice cream shop now and again, bringing girls in so he didn't look like some sort of stalker. Derek thought he was a genius, ordering Stiles' favorite flavor every time he came in. He thought it would be easier to deal with it if he at least _saw _Stiles, just to make sure he was alright. It got harder knowing that he was far from it.

Derek would be damned if he didn't stick around this time.

The set of Hospital doors opened violently as a man came in with a loud voice, "Where's my son!" he steamed, marching over to the front desk and repeating himself to the poor woman behind the counter. "I got a call that he was here. What room is he in?"

"Stillinski." Derek huffed, coming up from behind.

Conciquesnces be damned.

"H-Hale?" the (former) sheriff questioned, "What are you doing here?" his look of confusion suddenly growing tense, "Is this you're doing?!"

"No sir. Stiles had a concussion. I brought him here. He's fine, conscious, and the nurse said he even asked for some peanut butter ice cream."

Stiles' father nodded, semi content before turning back to the subject of Derek's presence, "What brings you here boy? I thought I made it pretty clear back in Beacon Hills that I didn't want you going anywhere near my son."

Derek frowned before shoving his fists into his pockets, "I stayed away for a long time. Don't make me leave again."

"Stiles was always getting into trouble around you, and don't call me crazy for making that connection. He'd come home with some obscure injury, miss a lacrosse game, stay out late.. all sorts of nonsense. Is it any coincidence that you show up after five peaceful years and he's suddenly back in the hospital?"

The sheriff has crossed his arms, scowling as Derek tried to find some way to defend himself, "I wasn't responsible for his disappearance. I found him for gods sake!"

"By some miracle. You just happened to find out what obscure place he'd been taken to huh?"

Actually... he'd used his nose, but there was no way he could tell Mr. Stillinski _that_. "Coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"Either way," Derek huffed, "I needed to see him."

"You don't need squat." The Sheriff glared, "Just get the hell outa here, Hale."

"I can't do that sir."

"You damn well can boy."

Derek tried not to growl through clenched teeth. There was no arguing with this man when it came to Stiles, and while Derek admired the protective nature he had for his son, he was getting annoyed. "You can't force me to leave again!"

The sheriff seemed unimpressed, "You only bring trouble."

Derek forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and doing his best not to glare at the offending man in front of him, "...Please sir." he softened, "I need to be near him. I let it go because I believed you were right, but I can't leave him as he is now."

Mr. Stilinski seemed to consider this for a moment, but his stare was still as hard as ever, "He did just fine, five years without you."

"Stiles is far from fine! I watched him have a panic attack, and stopped him from having nearly three more! He doesn't speak, he's shy and a loner. The Stiles I knew, you couldn't get to shut up!" Derek's voice had risen in volume, and people around them were starting to stare, "He is _far_ from 'fine'."

As the sheriff neared dangerously, Derek thought he was going to be hit. A hand raised, and he braced himself for the impact, surprised when the limb fell softly, the man's fingers curling over his shoulder, "I know boy." he whispered, "You get one chance. Anything goes wrong an you're gone."

Derek stared at the man, a little taken back when a threatening gaze met his, "Got it?"

"Yes sir."

"Good... Now, show me to my son's room."


	9. AN COMPUTER BREAKDOWN!

**Hello lovelies! I'm sorry you got stuck with an authors note instead of an update, but I'm afraid that updates will be put on hold for a short period. My computer decided it wanted to crash, so my documents, writing music, photos, all that jazz is being shipped in my laptop and away to Kentucky! I won't even know if they can actually fix it until a deadline of two weeks to 45 days... It's put me in a bit of a bad mood needless to say.**

**I hope you can hang in there long enough for me to get it back! And in case you're wondering, this update is being posted from a phone, and I would write that way, accept for the fact that it is extremely difficult to do so! Anyway, hang in there! And pray, chant, sing whatever you need to do for my poor laptop to fix itself!**

**-LF**


	10. I Forgive You

**Ahh! I'm sorry, I know I said I'd get an update out sooner but so much happened and ugh.. I need a new life. -.- The world sucks! Anyway, here's a new chapter for you lovelies who have stuck with me and been so supportive. Reviews are love! Hope you like it!**

**P.S. Any ideas or theories on what's going on yet? What's causing all this? ;) This chapter has also been updated with corrections. (The original was posted at like 2 am or something) Anyway, Thanks for sticking with me. :)**

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><p>The darkness that surrounded Stiles was sickening and thick. His captor's voice chuckled deeply in his ear as the boy pushed himself further against the wall, trying to escape the stranger. "You're getting careless Stiles." The voice mocked.<p>

Cringing, he forced his eyes shut, whispering with a begging voice as his hands pressed flatly against the coldness at his back, "What... what do you want from me?"

That familiar laugh returned in Stiles' right ear within seconds, making his whole body jump, "Nothing you haven't already been giving me."

"W-what?" he gasped, feeling breath finally return to his lungs.

Stiles' eyes were becoming more aware of his dark surroundings as his pupils adjusted. His pubescent night vision barely lightened the bandaged face that appeared in so many nightmares. With the blink of an eye, his captor was in his face, greeting styles like an old friend once more. It's sharp teeth formed a vicious, tight grin that released a stench like rotting caucuses as it spoke, "Until next time, _pet_."

The voice disappeared with a sudden movement, and Stiles woke with a start, dripping with sweat and practically screaming for help.

There was a nurse there to calm him when he woke, stooping close to the bed and laying gentle hands on his shoulders, "Shh, it's alright, you're alright." she assured him, petting down the damp hair on his head and trying to time their breathing into a soft, soothing sync.

Stiles heaved a few more heavy breaths as the nurse did her best to soothe him, speaking in a soft voice and sparing him a kind smile before finally asking him about his nightmare. Of course, he didn't speak, just eyed the woman. Her kind smile faltered a moment, but only for a glimpse of a second. "It's perfectly alright if you don't want to talk about it. You've had a couple visitors, and I'm only here to check up on you and fiddle with the cords. No need to worry."

Now Stiles felt a little bad. She was being nice and didn't look like much of a threat. His brain had just automatically tried to asses her when he saw her, taking into account her appearance and stature to judge like you judge a book cover before reading it. Figuring out if strangers were threats like some sort of paranoid child was another bad habit he'd like to kick. The nurse noticed Stiles spacing out and waved a hand in front of his face jokingly, "You alright there sweetheart?"

He gave a silent nod before settling back into his pillow. The hospital bed wasn't comfortable. It was tough and hard, the mat was too firm and the angle was all wrong. It left Stiles' back feeling sore and tight as his muscles struggled not to tense up against the practical _cement block_ he leaned against. Movies made it look a better than it was... but that could be said for just about anything in _any_ movie though...

"Well, if you're feeling up for it, there are some people waiting out in the hall for you." the nurse informed, donning a plastic smile, "They've been doting around for quite some time. At least, the young one has."

The young one? The man he couldn't remember? He stiffened at the thought. It was a scary thing to forget someone name _while you were sharing a bed_. It was not only frightening, but... depressing. He couldn't even imagine how the man had felt, being asked what his name was after something so intimate, but if he was still waiting around, didn't that mean he'd forgiven Stiles? After a few more seconds of fighting himself in his head, Stiles gave a light nod to the nurse, holding onto the scratchy blue hospital blanket that had been constricting his legs. Hospital beds were _not_ comfortable.

The nurse disappeared for a minute, coming back with two men following her. One was the nameless... bedmate... and the other, his father. Relief swept over Stiles as his father passed the nurse and wrapped him up in a warm, fatherly hug. "Thank god. I got a call that you were in the hospital and nearly broke the law getting here."

Stiles gave a short laugh, "_You_?"

"I may have been the sheriff in Beacon Hills, but I have a wild side of my own."

Derek wanted to interject and offer something to the-more one sided-conversation and tell Stillinski he sounded like a forty year old woman telling her friends she could still drink, but kept quietly to himself in the back. He sat himself down in one of those creamy brown hospital chairs that made more noise than they should have whenever you shifted an inch. Mr. Stillinski had started interrogating the nurse on Stiles' condition, leaving Stiles an open moment to stare at Derek from his bed.

The two made awkward eye contact for a moment, until Stiles forced his eyes on the rail of his bed, suddenly finding it very interesting. Derek just slouched in his chair, hands shoved into his pockets and fighting a scowl. Everything about this situation was screwed up and shouldn't have been worth his time, or the trip out of Beacon Hills. Seeing Stiles had been worth it, if not just to know he was okay... and alive. Whatever had caused Stiles' trauma had been supernatural, and it was clear now that it hadn't left him. Derek let his teeth grind for a moment as he thought about everything he knew, going it all over in his head like a case file.

In vain.

His head was one big gumbo pot, and sometimes he couldn't even tell which ingredients were what. "_Hale_."

Stillinski's voice broke his train of thought, as the man sent him a concerned look. "I'm going to have a chat with the nurse out in the hall. Can I trust you to keep an eye on my boy?" he questioned, seemingly irritated that it had come down to that.

"Yeah." came the barely audible reply. He coughed, and replied louder, "Yes sir."

"Good." his father's gaze turned back to Stiles; softening, "I'll be right outside. Holler if you need me."

Stiles gave a light smile and nod before he and the nurse exited the room. There were a few moments of awkward silence, but Stiles used the time to discover just how much he really enjoyed picking at the plastic of his hospital band. When Derek straightened however, his attention immediately snapped back to the scruffy looking man. "So.." Derek coughed, "You... don't remember a thing?"

Shaking his head, Stiles resigned back to his bracelet, trying to see if he could scratch off the corner of the sticker. "Not a single thing?"

"No." he finally voiced, stabbing Derek with an irritated flick of his eyes before once more deciding the bracelet was more entertaining.

"Got it." Derek grunted, falling back against the chair with a noisy huff. "I didn't do anything to piss you off did I?"

A much softer pair or eyes found their way to the man this time, encouraging him to go on. "You're obviously uneasy about something. I'd like to know." When he was greeted with only silence, Derek growled, "I know you can talk to me. You were talking a lot with me just last night... but you probably don't remember that huh?" Stiles had started to look away again, "Damn it!"

Derek slammed his hands on the arms of his chair, making Stiles jump, "Sorry, sorry... God damn it... This is just so stupid."

Stiles took a moment to breathe, passing glances between Derek and his bracelet several times before giving up and letting his hands rest at his sides; head back against the pillow so that he could stare at the weird ceiling patterns. Mainly to keep any water from forming in his eyes. "M'sorry..."

"What?"

"M...'m'sorry." he repeated, much more watery than the first time.

"No. No, Stiles."

"I'm sorry."

Derek stood suddenly and came to Stiles' side, bending over the side of the low rails and covering a hand with his own, "No. Stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry I can't remember you."

Derek could do nothing but watch helplessly as red circles started to spread from Stiles' eyes, water covering his beautifully blue irises and gathering at the corners, ready to fall down the sides of his head. "It's not your fault."

"I'm so sorry!"

"Stiles..." he assured, "I forgive you, don't cry."


	11. OMFG COMPUTER

**Well, low and behold... My computer crashed yet again! Yay! -,- Technology must hate me. Is the same framing problem too! In short update aren't coming out as quick and pretty as if like them to, but life has become hectic with people instigating ****romance, getting ahead of the game in school and my STUPID COMPUTER! I hope you'll all still stick around while I try to sort out the mess... Seriously...**

**Sorry...**

**-an apologetic LF**


End file.
